


green like grass

by wortfee



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Erik's knee injury, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Munir wears lipstick, Robert leaving, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wortfee/pseuds/wortfee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my tumblr prompts and requests. Feel free to message me anytime if you have a request. </p><p>right now: </p><p>Munir/Gerard: Munir lost a bet, he wears lipstick, Gerard might like it more than he should and Munir is just feeling generally really great with matte lipstick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matze/Erik - Alright

**Author's Note:**

> aye, aye this is for kerry who requested:  
> Something super cute and fluffy about..... Hmmmm... Matze and Erik? Maybe to do with Erik's injury and how Matze is helping him through it?

Matze came home to find Erik cuddled up in all the blankets he had, watching television on the couch. Erik was asleep, though or at least his eyes were closed, so Matze tried not to make any noise as he went into the bathroom. 

It wasn't surprising that Erik was where he was. Matze had given him a key to his flat when he found Erik in front of his door for the second time in a row, looking miserable and tired. Matze never asked, just offered Erik a place to say, blankets and cuddles. He knew they had to talk about whatever this was, Erik fleeing from his problems, and Matze ignoring his growing feelings for him, but right now he just wanted to shower. 

While the hot water poured down on his face, he thought about all the times Erik came to him when he was sad, and then after the shampoo burned in his eyes (because Matze was never able to keep it out of his face), he remembered the happy moments. 

Erik in his arms after a win, maybe just a win in practice, but that never mattered because Erik is there. Erik, trying to cook something for both of them but failing, so that they had to order something in. Erik finding Matze's old baby pictures and spending too much time cooing over them. 

Matze smiled, and he felt giddy and happy and wanted to hug Erik immediately, so he came out of the shower, spent to much time wrapped in the fluffy towels - but hey, they were really fluffy today, Matze and Erik had bought a new washing powder when they went out shopping groceries together, which apparently was worth its price, and stepped into his living room. 

Erik was still on the couch, but he wasn't asleep anymore. Instead, he was holding his knee with one hand and his other hand gripped the cushions of the couch tightly, too tightly. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Matze knew that he sounded too concerned, too afraid, too worried, but he couldn't help it. 

"Hurts," is all what Erik grunted out. Matze was immediately at his side, and he gently coaxed Erik into a better position for his knee. After a few minutes, Erik breathed out with a relieved sigh and Matze felt himself relax, too. 

"Thank you," Erik whispered. 

"Is everything alright? You know, apart from this?" Matze asked. He was afraid of this question, and from the way he felt Erik stiffen in his arms, he was too. 

"I want to play again," Erik said. "I miss it so much. And I feel useless, and I hate that this is taking so long that I am not even able to train properly yet. And you know, everytime it feels good, something comes up and I have to start again and again and - nevermind." 

Matze didn't say anything, instead he wriggled under Erik, so that Erik was laying on top of them, blankets still wrapped around him. Sometimes he didn't need to use his words because words could be comforting and good, but they could also be too abstract to grasp, floating in the room, but never really close. He tightened is arms around Erik and it felt good, felt right. 

"It will be alright," he whispered after a while because loud noises, even if it was just his voice, felt wrong and he didn't want to ruin this moment. Matze kissed soft kisses on Erik's shoulder, and he finally felt Erik relax again. 

Erik fell asleep on him, Matze still kissing his shoulders gently, his whispered words rocking him to sleep.


	2. Bürki/Marco - Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anon requested: Bürki/Marco Reus, so here you go anon. It was quite fun to write even though it was strange because I haven't wrote anything about them before. Or read anything. Or thought about them in general together.

The first time they kissed, Marco tasted like beer and like the slow burn of a terrible loss against Bayern. He tasted like desperation, thick and bitter and frantic. Marco also tasted like Marco, just the way he usually smelled. After that, Roman couldn't think anymore, only kiss Marco back until they both breathed heavily and broke apart. 

Roman looked at Marco, questioning. 

"You okay?" was the only thing Marco said, though, so Roman nodded and smiled. It was probably a shaky one, unsure and his lips still tingling from the kiss, but he did feel okay. 

Losses hurt in a way that nothing else hurt. It was a deep, stinging pain that made him grumpy for at least the next few hours. It made him replay the scenes in his head over and over again, desperately wishing he had been able to make that one save, that he hadn't been in the false corner, that he had been a bit faster. 

But still, he couldn't manage to feel sad after Marco's kiss, after the bitter taste of desperation on his mouth. 

 

The second time they kissed, Marco's tongue was slow and lazy. He tasted like the chocolate bar he just shared with Auba and maybe that was why their kiss was sweeter, calmer. Maybe it was because they had just won and there was no trace of sadness or desperation in the way their lips moved. 

"What are we even doing?" Roman mumbled the words more to himself than to Marco, but the other was so close that the heard them anyway. 

"You want to stop?"

"No," said Roman because he really didn't and kissing Marco felt great, even though he didn't know whatever it meant. Maybe it didn't have to mean anything, maybe it did, and they both hadn't realized it yet. 

 

The third time they kissed, Roman tasted blood. 

He bit on Marco's thin lips until he tasted blood, irony and cold. 

Marco just kissed back harder. 

 

Now, it's the fourth time. Marco kissed him quickly, a peck and nothing more but it felt strangely intimate. 

"You wanted to talk?" Marco asks and settles down beside him, and Roman briefly thinks that he could get used to this - Marco settling down, and smiling up at him. 

"It's just," Roman says and stops because he doesn't know what to say. "This. This thing. What we're doing. What's that?" 

Marco sits up a little and turns his face around, and Roman wishes he wouldn't because like that Marco's too close and he can see all the different shades of green and brown and blue in Marco's eyes that all blend together perfectly to a hazel.

"Kissing? Making out like teenagers?" Marco's teasing him, Roman knows that. His eyes are sparkling and he has a shit eating grin on his face, so Roman only rolls his eyes. 

"Marco," he says, and there's something in his voice that wipes Marco's grin from his lips. Roman resists the urge to try to kiss the grin back on Marco's lips because he wants to talk for once and not make out like teenagers. Well, if anything goes smoothly, he'll be able to do that later anyway. 

"Do you want us to stop?" Marco asks and now he really wishes the grin would still be on its place. 

"No," Roman replies hastily. "No, I really don't. Just want to know what this is without stopping it?"

"Let's go eat something," Marco says, and smiles. "Like a date if you want. I think we kind of fucked up already with the dating before kissing rule, but, well, if you like to?"

Marco gets more and more flustered with every words he speaks, and it's adorable really, watching Marco's pale cheeks blush and his hands fidgeting. 

"You like Thai Food, right?" Roman says, and surges forward to kiss Marco once more. 

Because really, who still needs the date before kissing rule?


	3. Jonas/Marco - Misunderstood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunk Mo is an excellent matchmaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the moral of the story: don't take too long with your fics or one of the characters might not even be on the team anymore. the next story will be reumann again, but it will deal with jonas leaving so it's at least a bit more relevant. i hope you enjoy this, dear, even though it is not my best work and way too late. i am sorry. <3

Jonas loves coming to Mats' house because it means good food, he and the rest of their team playing FIFA, and generally just a good evening. 

There's only that one thing that can ruin his evening, just a touch, just a smile, just a look shared between two other people. He wishes he wouldn't be so jealous of Auba, but he can't help it. The jealously is burning deep in his stomach and feels like bile in his throat sometimes. He's happy for Marco and Auba, he really is, but it hurts so much to see them together. 

Tonight though, he wants to enjoy the evening at Mats' so he is in the kitchen instead of playing FIFA with the others. Cathy isn't home, she never is because she probably would get a heart-attack if she saw all the mess. 

"Jonas!" Someone screams and that someone sounds suspiciously like a drunk Mo, which is never a good combination. Moritz alone is too much for him on most days. 

"Why are you lurking around in the kitchen?" drunk Moritz asks and smiles impossibly wide. 

"I am not lurking," Jonas says because he really is not. It's more like avoiding certain people. Mo only rises a very judgemental eyebrow. 

"You are definitely lurking," Moritz is giggling now and Jonas is a little bit afraid that he might fall over, and he considers helping Mo back to the living room again but he's way too comfortable on Mats' kitchen counter. Well, maybe his ass hurts a bit because Mats' kitchen counter is hard, but he can at least pretend to make himself feel better, right? 

"Well, Marco is like you too today" Mo says after he finished giggling. This makes no sense at all, since Marco is comfortably sitting on the couch and probably cuddling with Pierre, but Jonas is used to the crap that comes out of Mo's mouth. 

"Why?" he asks, though because apparently he has no self-preservation at all. 

"Because you are always pining after someone and he is pining too!" Mo looks at him with wide, innocent eyes, but Jonas doesn't buy it. 

"What do you mean by that? Why the hell would he be pining?" He doesn't even argue about the point that he's pining too because Jonas isn't stupid and knows that he is obvious, sometimes. Thankfully Marco is so caught up in Auba that he doesn't notice anything else around him most of the time. 

"Well," Mo says and leans closer to him, "Marco is sad because he is pining after you, but don't tell him I told you that or he will be mad." 

"He is what?"

"Psscht," Moritz whispers, "You shouldn't be so loud or Marco will hear us!"

"What will I hear?" There's Marco, beautiful Marco with his hair falling in his eyes, and a soft smile around his lips while he looks at Mo fondly. 

Fuck. 

Jonas is so gone for him. 

"Nothing," Mo says and drapes himself all over Marco. Jonas tries to ignore the jealously that grows in his belly again because he has no right to feel like that at all, Marco can hug whoever he wants to hug. 

"Nothing?" Marco asks and smiles his crooked, adorable smile. 

"Just that you love him," Mo mumbles and hides his face in Marco's chest. Marco freezes and Jonas does too, and Moritz may be drunk but he isn't that drunk so he isn't saying something either. 

"I -," Marco starts, but Jonas interrupts him. He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to listen how it is a misunderstanding, how he is happy with Auba and he never meant to hurt his feelings and that he is sorry, so he takes the word out of Marco's mouth. 

"I know Mo is talking shit again, and you don't have to have pity with me, alright? I know that you're happy with Auba and that won't change -" 

"What do you mean I am happy with Auba?" Marco looks confused, and his lips are pressed together tightly. It looks almost cute. "You think we are together?"

"Well, you are? You don't have to lie, Marco, I know it already. Don't worry, it's not a problem," Jonas hops down from Mats' kitchen counter and tries to smile. It is a problem, but he won't whine. He tries to walk as quickly as possible out of the kitchen. 

"Wait Jonas, listen to me for a second, you don't understand," Marco looks pleadingly at him, and Mo is still in his arms and it should feel weird, but it doesn't. 

"Auba and I are not in a relationship, not like that. He's my best friend, but that's it. I love him, but I'm not in love with him, really." 

"See," Moritz whispers and Jonas has to laugh because this is ridiculous. This is ridiculous and he feels incredibly happy, the happiness is bubbling in him and breaking out as a wide smile. "Now you can kiss!" 

Marco smiles. 

"I think I have to take this guy to Auba, wait a minute," he says and Jonas doesn't want him to leave because maybe, maybe this is just a dream and he is waking up any minute but he doesn't want to. He wants to feel like this as long as possible. 

"I'll come with you," he says, and Marco loosens one arm that is wrapped around Mo, and takes his hand. 

They walk like that through Mats' house and Marco's hand is warm, and solid and dry in his, Marco's thumb rubbing over Jonas' hand. It feels amazing.


	4. Marc-André ter Stegen/Rafinha - Staying Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafinha needs sleep, goes to parties anyway and meets Marc. (College-AU)

Rafinha desperately needs sleep. He also needs more time to finish his papers, more blankets in his bed because their heater broke yesterday and a new microwave since Dani tried to do something weird with it and then the microwave just burned, and the only other one he can use is the one that is in the science department of his college and that one is seriously disgusting.

But here he is, without sleep and without blankets or a microwave because it is Lionel Messi's birthday and you just don't miss Lionel Messi's birthday, especially not if it is in Piqué's house. Piqué's house looks more like a house of a business manager than the poor college student he is, which has a lot to do with his girlfriend who is a local popstar and not so much with how much Piqué has his life together because _newsflash_ \- he doesn't.

Still, it is a pretty nice place and the booze is free so it didn't take Dani that long to convince him to come.

("It's a birthday," he argued. "And I am not even invited, you can't take me with you, just like that."

"Piqué loves attention," Dani rolled his eyes. "So we are going to give him some more. There's free booze by the way, and probably some cute guys or girls you can hook up with."

"Alright, but if I fall asleep in Zidane's classes tomorrow, you'll have to say you mixed sleeping pills in my coffee."

"We both know that Zidane will know that you're just hungover," Dani replied and rolled his eyes, again. Rafa seemed to be rolling-eye-worthy guy, at least if nothing else.)

All in all it's no wonder Rafa sits in a corner, one hand curled around a bottle of Jack Daniel's honey whiskey (he saw the bottle and immediately claimed it as his) and the other around his phone, head on the table. He probably looks like an alcoholic, but Rafa can't bring himself to care, he's far too tired for that.

"Hey, are you alright?" someone's voice he doesn't recognize asks. Rafa only grumps. He doesn't feel like lifting his head or opening his eyes at all.

"I'll just sit here," the voice says, and Rafa can hear a distant accent, and he is lifting his head and opening his eyes because he is a curious idiot who doesn't know what's good for himself.

Looking in the gorgeous eyes who belong to the voice he doesn't recognize might be one of the things that are good for Rafa.

"I am Rafinha," he says and he wants to offer his hand to Blue Eyes, and he realizes too late that it's still curled around the bottle of whiskey so it looks like he is offering to share his booze, which he really isn't. And he probably looks even more like an alcoholic now, but the blue eyes in front of him just sparkle.

"My name is Marc," Blue Eyes - _Marc_ \- says, and to Rafa's surprise he takes the bottle of booze and drinks, and drinks and drinks, and what the hell, when is that guy stopping?

Marc looks like he might vomit for a moment but then that moment is over and he just leans back and sighs. His bottle is a lot emptier than it was before, but Rafa doesn't mind that much.

"What are you doing in your life right now?" Rafa asks him and Marc starts to talk, and that's how Rafa manages to stay awake the whole party, Marc's slightly slurred but warm, hushed, full voice in his ear. If Rafa shivers from time to time because Marc's lips brush his ear, nobody mentions it.

(They end up in one of Piqué's guestrooms, at least they hope it's not their bedroom. You don't fuck in other people's bedrooms, that's the rule.

Marc's lips are cold, but soft. They feel good and Marc is an excellent kisser, not too much tongue and almost no teeth at all, only softly biting in his lower lip when Rafa brushes against his growing cock.

"You're drunk," Marc whispers, and he pushes Rafa away.

"You are the one who drank away my whiskey like you wanted to impress me," Rafa says, "You're drunk, too."

"Yeah, but I am not the one who played Beer Pong and lost all the time," Marc pulls him back on his feet, and smiles. Rafa can't be angry at that giant teddy bear, even if he just denied him sex. "We'll take a cab to my flat, if you want to? I don't know if you manage to get back home alone after drinking more beer than you have water in your body."

"Alright," Rafa smiles.

They don't call a cab, instead Suarez and Mascherano take them with them because neither one of them drink and driving for free with motorcycles through the city sounds nicer than spending too much money on a cab. It actually isn't because the night is cold and windy and the helmet is too small for Rafinha's head, but he ends up pretending Masche's back is Marc's but nobody needs to know that. They thank Masche and Suarez, say their goodbyes, and Marc lets himself and Rafa into his flat.

"The flat is in the third story," Marc says and shrugs apologetically. They somehow survive the stairs, and Marc somehow is able to open his door. Rafa thinks that everything is possible this night.

They stay awake, and Rafa tells Marc about his life, and Marc tells him more about his. They discuss football teams, and whether they prefer ketchup or mayonnaise on their french fries, with how many pillows they sleep and if they put photos on walls with tape or in frames - important life questions, basically. It's four A.M. and Marc gives him his favourite Mönchengladbach jersey to sleep in and it's ridiculously big on Rafa, but Marc just licks his lips and winks. "You look good," he says, and Rafa has to laugh.

"You're an idiot," he says and when he finally, finally falls asleep, there's a warm, big body behind him. He has to thank Dani for dragging him to the party, is the last thing he thinks before falling asleep.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello people! 
> 
> i dedicate this to julija and to gi. to julija because i did this instead of thinking, and distracting myself worked. thank you. <3  
> to gi because we talked all day while i was writing it, and i know she likes colleges au's. <3  
> leave feedback if you want to, i'd love it! also: i know people in america don't eat french fries with mayonnaise but that's honestly sad and you miss out on too much. come to germany we are cooler.


	5. Robert/Marco - Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not talking leads them to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> communication is the key for a functioning relationship. have fun with this leweus thingy. (basically marco is my dislike against bayern and lewy is lewy because i am still not over lewy leaving tbh. like i am, but i miss leweus, it was like THE otp, you know?) probably this will be sad, just saying. leave me a comment and tell me what you think, if you wanna, it would mean a lot.

**one**

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Robert looks up from his phone, surprised. He didn't expect Marco to say something like that, something that was very important to him, just casual, in Robert's house while he was checking his Mails and Marco was occupied playing FIFA. Normally, Robert would join him, but Marco is right - he is leaving and it is a right mess.

Robert realizes that he still hasn't answered and that Marco looks at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. He settles for a nod.

Marco is silent for a few seconds, before he stands up and leaves. Robert knows that Marco wants his space, needs some time to come terms with the fact that he's leaving, but he is going after him anyway because he can't stand the thought of Marco being alone in this. Again.

Marco sits on the floor, his back pressed against the white wall and his head is resting on his knees. He clearly wants to be alone and something in Robert screams to just let it go, to just let have this moment for himself, but he can't. He knows it is selfish, but it breaks his heart to see Marco like this and he needs to do something about it.

"At least you are not going to Bayern," Marco hiccups with a sad smile, a bad attempt to make him and Robert feel better.

"No," Robert says, "No, I won't." And Marco smiles at him, and the smile is still sad, but it's crooked and beautiful and Marco's.

 

**two**

They don't talk about it anymore. Robert feels like they have to, but he isn't one to force Marco to talk, not about this. They don't talk and it is easier to pretend that it won't actually happen, that their time isn't limited.

Until Marco talks about it.

"Robert?" he asks, and both of his feet are in Robert's lap while they are watching shitty daytime TV.

"Hmn?"  
"Why are you even going? I mean, we almost won the Champions-League and you even won the Bundesliga two times, it only has to get better, right?" Marco seems nervous, not exactly looking in his eyes and cracking his fingers.

"I need a change," Robert says and he flinches because it sounds a lot like _I need a change from you_ , which is not the case at all.

"Would you stay?" Marco asks and he doesn't need to add the _for me_ because it lingers in the air, floats in their minds since the day Robert said that he'll leave. Robert wants to say, he wants to say he'd do anything for Marco, something he said all the time earlier in their relationship, being so in love that he threw the words around, too careless, too often. He still feels like he would do anything for Marco, but he also knows that he has to do it for himself and for himself only. He needs something new, a challenge, something that keeps him awake and breathing through long training sessions and bad matches. He doesn't know if he can do this in Dortmund, if he's completely honest.

He never gives Marco an answer, but he probably understands him anyway. They both go back to watching shitty daytime TV and ignoring the situation.

 

**three**

"So," Marco says, over dinner. "Where are you going? Madrid? Barcelona? England?"

Robert flinches, almost violently.

He doesn't want to say it. He has to, though. Quick and painless is what he thinks as he says "I'll go to Bayern," but when Marco looks at him with wide eyes and asks if he is joking because he has to, _he fucking has to_ , Robert realizes that quick and painless didn't quite work out.

"Why the fuck would you go to Bayern? I thought you wanted to go to Spain, experience different football, something new?"

"They made me an offer," Robert says like it explains everything, "I couldn't refuse."

"Of course you could, you fucking idiot! There were offers of the two biggest clubs in Spain and you were apparently able to refuse them as well!" Marco is raging, and fuming, and tears are in his eyes. 

"I -," Robert starts, but he never gets to finish his sentence because Marco is storming away, and banging doors, and this time Robert lets him.

He doesn't know what to say, anyway.

 

**four**

They fuck the night before Robert leaves. They haven't talked. They haven't cuddled and they haven't done anything that was remotely like the couple they are. Or maybe like the couple they were, Robert doesn't know and he doesn't ask. Not yet, not know.

Marco is above him, straddling him. He is moaning and his eyes are focused on Robert's, almost making him uncomfortable with the intensity. Robert only bucks up in Marco and makes him moan even louder.

That's what they are now, apparently.

After the fucking, Robert expects Marco to talk. Some part in him understands Marco only too well and the other part in him makes him want to scream at Marco and shake him, make him understand that he is leaving Dortmund, and not leaving him. Even though he is going to Bayern, even though this betrayal feels even worse than the one of Mario had to feel like.

Marco only stands up and searches for his clothes, though, and Robert feels his heart drop. No. No, this can't be their end, not like this, not this, they need to talk and they will figure something out and it won't be perfect because there is not a solution and especially not a perfect one.

But Marco is already gone, and the only trace of him ever being in Robert's bedroom is the smell of his aftershave lingering all over his pillows.


	6. Munir/Gerard - Winning and Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Munir loses a bet and Geri now knows that matte lipsticks and blow jobs go together nicely. Especially with Munir thrown in the mix.

"You have to wear lipstick for a whole night when we are out with the team the next time," Gerard says, and he smirks, a glint in his eyes.

"Alright," Munir says, and that's it. He feels Piqué's surprised look in his back, but Munir only smirks slightly. Piqué didn't know him when he was with Barcelona B, and he certainly doesn't know about their parties after some matches.

Munir was worried when he made a bet with Piqué because Piqué is Piqué and loves to tease him with jokes that are not funny, but Munir is polite enough to laugh and act as if it wouldn't bother him. There's also the tiny aspect that he feels like he still hasn't settled in the team, hasn't been involved in the way he wants and needs it to be, but he doesn't say that aloud. But this, this isn't really a problem.

_~_

Munir finds a matte, red MAC lipstick in his bag after the match. Munir tries not to smile too much when he sees it, it's a shade he doesn't own yet. He hides the package quickly in his bag, when Dani curiously watches him.

"What was that?" Arda asks.

"I lost a bet with Gerard," is all Munir says, and he bathes in the confused look Arda gives him. This will be fun.

~

Munir sums to some of Neymar's brazilian rap that he couldn't get out of his head since the last time Neymar played it in the locker room while he is doing his make-up. He lines his lips, and he considers overdrawing them a bit for a second, but then decides against it. His lips will look full enough, anyway, he knows that. The lipstick feels good on his lips, and because he feels like it, Munir grabs the only mascara he owns and coates his lashes with it.

He takes a few selfies, sends some to the people he trusts (and to some people from whom he knows will really enjoy it), and slips into the black skinny jeans and his black shirt.

The drive to the club is a short one, but one he knows well. The team always goes there when they want to celebrate something without the whole world knowing, and Munir is glad they do, especially today. He doesn't even want to imagine the headlines.

"What the fuck?" Neymar looks at him when he enters the club, two glasses of something in his hands that look a lot like water. Just water, not vodka, which means he'll spend the night with Leo in a corner and won't come out of it until everyone's gone. And for a moment, there's the insecurity back, hitting him back on his chest like it does when he has a bad game, but then he breathes, and there's bad air in his lungs and he feels his lashes against the skin of his eyelids.

He breathes again, and there's more bad air in his lungs, and he isn't in Camp Nou, and he isn't training and he isn't missing chances, but he is in a shady club with lipstick on his lips and mascara on his lashes, and this is something which he knows, something that is familiar.

Munir smiles, his lips stretched wide.

"I lost a bet with Gerard," he says, and Neymar chuckles.

"Have fun," he shouts after him, but Neymar is already in some far corner and probably focused on Messi and Suarez.

~

When Piqué sees him, he drops his glass on the ground.

"What?"

"What, what?" Munir asks, because Piqué is confusing him.

"You look, uh, good," Piqué says and Munir pretends he doesn't realize how Gerard's eyes linger on his lips, his body, and on his lips again.

This will be definitely fun.

~

Munir spent the rest of the night joking around with his teammates, who either didn't ask about the lipstick at all like Mascherano who doesn't give a fuck about these things, or who asked and laughed when he told them his and Gerard's bet.

It's a good evening. He feels confident, and good, and when someone drags him to the dance floor he dances without thinking about anything else, really.

And there's Piqué who is strangely quiet and doesn't even tease him one fucking time. Munir shots him a look from time to time, and Piqué only stares back at him, eyes focused on his lips.

Munir knows that look, and maybe he is teasing Geri a bit, lining his lips directly in front of him and sucking a bit too long on the straw that is in his glass. But, well, Gerard doesn't seem to mind that much and if he does, he can just see it as a payback for all the fucking times he made fun of him.

~

"You have a sec?" Piqué whispers in his ear, and Munir nods, still a bit sweaty from dancing through the night with Dani and Douglas and Sergi. He drags him to the bathroom, and closes the door. Piqué takes one step, and another, and another, and then he is right in front of him, so close that there's not even an inch between their faces.

"I can't believe you," Gerard says, "First, you act all shy and kind of innocent and then you put fucking lipstick on and you're the most confident and funny person in the whole room."  
"Well," Munir begins, but Piqué doesn't like to listen to other people, so maybe that's why he's being pushed against the wall, Piqué's lips on his own.

Munir moans. Fucking finally.

They kiss, and it's wet and hot and his lipstick is smeared, his lips swollen.

"You look so fucking good like this," Gerard groans, and Munir can't suppress a smile. His gaze moves to Piqué's crotch, and his dick is already half-hard through the denim he wears. Munir licks his lips.

"Can I?" he asks, and drops to his knees without waiting for an answer. Piqué only groans louder and nods.

Piqué's cock feels good in his mouth, stretching his lips and filling his throat. And Piqué's come on his lips looks feels even better, although the lipstick is smeared all over his chin and some of it is over Piqué's cock, too.

"Good thing you lost that bet," Gerard mumbles, and, well, Munir won't admit aloud but he is agreeing with Geri because it doesn't feel like losing at all, more like winning than anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i wrote this. eh, probably happened because i need some new lipstick asap and munir's lips look always good, and some pictures on tumblr. like this team sometimes i don't why i love these idiots these much.  
> hope you liked it, tell me your thoughts in the comments if you like <3 thanks for all the kudos and comments and clicks btw you are all awesome and i hope you have a great friday tomorrow. <3


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